


I, Dreamer

by notionally



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Im Changkyun | I.M-centric, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-12-29 22:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18303440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notionally/pseuds/notionally
Summary: What's it like, being a robot?Changkyun -- or I.M -- is a robot. He's always dreaming of what it might be like to be human. It's not until he meets Hoseok that he truly understands what that means.





	I, Dreamer

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [kpopolymfics2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/kpopolymfics2019) collection. 



> This fic was written for K-Pop Olymfics 2019 as part of Team Alternate Universe 2. Olymfics is a challenge in which participants write fics based on prompt sets and compete against other teams of writers, organized by genre. Competition winners are chosen by the readers, so please rate this fic using [this survey](https://forms.gle/tSq4SN4hyXgmgd7p9)!
> 
>  **Prompt:**   **J-Hope – "Daydream"**  
> [lyrics](https://colorcodedlyrics.com/2018/03/j-hope-jeihob-daydream-baegilmong) **|** [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OK3GJ0WIQ8s) **|** [supplementary](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/dc/66/84/dc66847a3c4b16e9c0e82fa2f8551dcc.jpg) \- [prompts](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/8a/9a/91/8a9a9197d7cc96862bea99e243f4f552--copenhagen-style-ron-weasley.jpg)

 

 

* * *

 

  _I. always breathless from daydreaming, who knows?_

 

* * *

 

What's it like, being a robot?

Stupid question, Changkyun thinks, and yet it's the one that’s put to him most often. From snooty patrons at fundraising galas, to well-meaning graduate students on tours of the facility.

He doesn’t know to explain what it’s _like_ being a robot any more than any human can explain what it’s like to be human. It just — is what it is. He doesn’t know any other kind of experience. His life has always been sterile walls and fluorescent lights, strict routines of diagnostic tests and experiments of varying levels of complexity — some of which he understands, and some of which he doesn’t.

It’s not bad, per se. Just — kind of boring. Or at least, as close to what humans call boring as Changkyun thinks he can experience.

“What have you been up to?”

Changkyun looks up. Jooheon walks into the lab, hands shoved into the pockets of his lab coat. He’s one of the junior scientists assigned to the day-to-day care of the Intelligent Machine, or I.M, as he’s most often called.

‘Changkyun’ was the name given to him by the first lead scientist in charge of the project — and the name said scientist had been planning to give to his son, before a train derailment took both mother and child from him. There’s something poetic, Changkyun thinks, in the way he came to acquire the name. He prefers it.

“Nothing much,” Changkyun says, stretching his arms overhead. It doesn’t do anything for him, since he has no muscles, only steel and wiring underneath fake skin, but he’s seen humans do it and so he does it too. “Gaming.”

Jooheon grins at him, cheeks dimpling in a way that makes him look years younger. “I wish I could game in my head too,” he says, wandering over to the computers and swiping his ID card. “Any aches and pains?”

Changkyun rolls his eyes, but smiles. “As much as I had yesterday,” he replies. It’s their usual charade, pretending to be doctor and patient rather than scientist and experiment. They both know Changkyun can feel no pain.

“I heard something,” Jooheon says, humming quietly to himself as he taps away at the computer. “Good news — you’ll like it.”

Changkyun doubts this. He’s been given so-called good news many times before, but it almost always disappoints. What the scientists consider good news is often just more hassle for Changkyun — another fundraiser or lecture or publicity event to be dragged to.

The last time he’d been given actual, objectively _good_ news had been five years ago. When he was given his body.

Changkyun remembers the first time he was booted up in his new physical form. Remembers how unsettlingly wondrous it had been to be able to register the sensation of the air, cold against his skin. Or to close his fingers around things and grasp them tight, to pick up one foot then the other and move himself from one spot to another. Remembers the epiphany of the exact moment when he could finally experience and therefore properly understand what the humans meant when they talked about a ‘point of view’.

He doesn’t think any news can possibly live up to that, but nonetheless — he cups his chin in his hands and peers across the room at Jooheon. “What news?”

Jooheon looks up from the computer. “I heard some of the senior scientists talking to K.Will,” he starts — K.Will was the head of their company, and even the lead scientists had to clear major decisions by him, which must mean that whatever news Jooheon’s about to deliver is _big_ — “they were talking about the next stage in your experiment.”

Changkyun frowns. He’s not heard anything about this before. “Next stage?” he questions. “What next stage?”

“It’s risky,” Jooheon continues, ignoring Changkyun’s question for the time being, “but someone’s got to go first, and it might as well be you. You’re the most advanced robot they’ve got.”

“Go first?” Changkyun runs his hand through his hair. Another tic he’s picked up from observing the humans around him, and that he’s watched on the television and on the internet. “Go where?”

Jooheon beams at him. “Go _out,”_ he says, voice lowered in excitement. “In the real world. To live among humans.”

Changkyun gapes at Jooheon. It takes a moment for his words to fully register. “What?” he exclaims. There are too many things happening in his brain for him to process. Thoughts fire rapidly, one after the other — where he’s going to go, what he’s going to do, what this all means, and why? Why are they letting him out?

His question doesn’t need to be spoken to be implicitly understood by Jooheon, who walks over to him and rests a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He does it because that’s what humans do to comfort each other, Changkyun thinks. He doesn’t respond to physical touch in quite the same emotional way as humans do, but the thought that Jooheon is trying to calm him down has the intended effect.

“It’s the next stage of the experiment,” Jooheon says, evenly. “A real world application of the Turing Test. To see if humans can tell that you’re not human.”

The electrical impulses firing through Changkyun’s brain are still going haywire, but he tries to focus on one thought at a time. “What — what if I fail the test?” he asks. “What if they can tell?”

Jooheon shrugs. “Then you come back, and maybe try again,” he replies. “The point is, you’re going to get to be free — sort of. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? What you’ve always dreamed of?”

Changkyun doesn’t dream. He doesn’t even really sleep in the way that humans do — he can power down, can recharge, but he doesn’t sleep. And if he doesn’t technically sleep, then he doesn’t dream.

But he doesn’t say any of this — he knows that Jooheon doesn’t mean the dreams human that spawn subconsciously, when they’re asleep. He’s talking about the dreams humans weave when they’re awake. The fantastical imagined realities of a life not necessarily better, but _different_ than the one they’re currently living.

Those kinds of dreams, the daydreams — Changkyun dreams those all the time.

He dreams of freedom, of excitement, of spontaneity. Dreams of walking through the busy city streets, the sunshine warm against his synthetic skin, going wherever his two feet decide to take him. Dreams of being defined not by what he is, but _who_ he is. Dreams of being not I.M, but just — Changkyun.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, the corners of his lips quirking upwards even though he doesn’t think he’s consciously decided to smile. Jooheon chuckles, claps him on the back. A giggle bubbles out of Changkyun. His happiness sensors are firing out of control.

“You’re a real boy now, kid,” Jooheon declares.

And, that — that’s all Changkyun’s ever wanted, really. All he’s ever dreamed of.

 

 

* * *

 

_II. a different painting of my life_

 

* * *

 

 “Why can’t you just use your robot powers to get all our stuff up the stairs?” complains Jooheon as he staggers exaggeratedly down the corridor, a sizeable cardboard box in his arms. Changkyun stands in the doorway of their new flat, rolls his eyes at his new flatmate.

“You know I don’t have robot powers — and also, don’t use that word,” he scolds, but lightly, because there’s no one around to hear them anyway. Holds the door open for Jooheon to come through and set the box atop the others already sitting in their living room. “You might compromise the experiment.”

Jooheon turns, grins at Changkyun. His cheeks dimple softly. “Don’t call yourself an experiment,” he says, faux-scoldingly. “We’re friends now, aren’t we? If we’re living together?”

Changkyun isn’t sure if a robot can have friends. The use of the word surprises him. He blinks at Jooheon a couple of times, trying to figure out an appropriate answer. Strictly speaking, they’re still scientist and experiment, just transplanted into a different setting. But Jooheon’s standing there, beaming brightly and — as far as Changkyun can tell — genuinely, and it’s not anything that Changkyun’s really been prepared for.

“Are we?” he asks, slowly, after a moment. “Are we friends?”

This makes Jooheon laugh. He throws an arm around Changkyun, drags him close. The physical closeness is unusual for them, unusual for Changkyun in general. He knows humans like being close to the humans they love, though, and so Jooheon’s proximity sends happy electrical signals tingling through his circuits.

“If you want to be,” Jooheon says cheerily. “You can do whatever you want — this is your life now.”

Changkyun giggles, covers the lower half of his face with a hand. “Just for the next six months,” he points out, because that’s as long as the experiment’s been commissioned for, but it’s still six months longer than Changkyun’s ever had to himself. Well, not technically all to himself, because Jooheon’s there — but then again, Jooheon isn’t just a scientist now. Maybe, if Changkyun wants, he could be a friend.

“I — I think I’d like that,” Changkyun says cautiously. Peers up at Jooheon, shoots him a small smile.

Jooheon claps him on the back. “Wonderful,” he declares. Then, winks at Changkyun, gives him a nudge with his shoulder. “In that case, you can do your friend a favour and go pick up the last few boxes from the van.”

Changkyun whines about it, but only playfully. He’s never been asked to do something _as a favour_ before. In the lab it was always _do this_ and _do that_ and Changkyun always did what he was told because he was an experiment, the property of the laboratory, and he didn’t have a choice. Now, being asked to do Jooheon a favour — it makes Changkyun feel like, all of a sudden, like he might maybe be his own being.

He slips out the main door of the building, makes sure to wedge it open with a brick, hops down the short flight of steps to the street. There are only two boxes left in the small moving van Jooheon had driven over here — Changkyun doesn’t have much stuff, for obvious reasons — and Changkyun is tempted to just carry them both upstairs in one go. He might not have ‘robot powers’, but he does have the inability to feel pain, and he knows how much weight his steel frame can physically bear. The two boxes would be no problem for him.

But it might look weird, to a human, Changkyun considers, to see him carrying two large moving boxes so easily. Better to play it safe. He nods to himself firmly.

“Need help?”

Changkyun lets out a yelp and leaps in the air. He had turned most of his processing power to the dilemma in front of him, which had left barely anything paying attention to his surroundings. He whips his head round to see who had spoken, and there’s a guy, dressed simply in a tight black t-shirt and dark jeans, grinning goofily at him.

“Uh,” Changkyun says. Tries to pull together sufficient faculties to say something intelligent and human-like, but his sensors keep pinging at him. Look at this guy’s hair! It’s white blond with blue tips! Look at how muscular he is! Look at his big, shiny eyes! Look! _Look!_

The overwhelming stranger lets out a chuckle. It’s a nice sound, Changkyun thinks. Or, rather, Changkyun’s brain screams at him. The stranger cocks his head at Changkyun. “You okay?”

Changkyun lets out a strangled sort of noise. “Yeah,” he mumbles, turning his attention back to the boxes in the van. “I’m, um — I’m fine.”

“Let me help you with one of those boxes,” says the man with blue tips in his hair. Why does he have blue tips in his hair? Changkyun stares at him in bewilderment, and already the stranger is leaning into the van to pick up one of the boxes. “You live in that building there, don’t you?”

He’s gesturing with a tilt of his head towards the wedged-open front door. Changkyun nods. “Um, yes,” he says. Grabs the other box, nudges the van door closed with his foot, and follows this mysterious person up the stairs and into the building. “I’m, uh, new here.”

Laugh. Strange man heads up the stairs. “I can see that,” he teases. Or at least, Changkyun thinks he’s teasing. He thought he had human emotions down pretty well by now, but at this moment his brain is too frazzled to focus on anything properly. “I live in the building, too. Which floor are you on?”

Changkyun tries not to look at the stranger’s butt, but it’s hard to when it’s right there in front of his face. He runs through his database of butts he’s seen before, starts considering how this one compares. Above average, he thinks, well above average. And then he realises what he’s doing, and shuts down the entire process in a panic. It makes him stumble on the stairs.

“Third floor,” he chokes out. He can’t believe he’s going to blow this whole ‘being human’ thing on his very first day.

But the stranger doesn’t seem to notice Changkyun being an absolute disaster of a human. “Sweet!” is all he says, instead. “Me too!”

Changkyun finds out that the stranger, by some miraculous coincidence, lives in the flat directly opposite his and Jooheon’s. Which is just _brilliant,_ really — now he’s going to have to interact on an almost daily basis with a human in front of whom Changkyun’s already almost blown his cover. Not to mention a human who seems for some reason to make his entire circuitry fire out of control.

Jooheon’s standing at the end of the corridor, waiting for Changkyun to return. “You were taking ages,” he says, but his attention is already focused on the man heading down the hallway in front of Changkyun. He raises an eyebrow at Changkyun questioningly, and Changkyun twists his face into his best approximation of bewilderment mixed with innocence. Jooheon holds the door open for them, still staring openly at the person who is apparently their new neighbour. “Who are you?”

Their neighbour sets the box he’s carrying on the ground, before straightening up and turning to Jooheon. Wipes his hands on his jeans, before extending it for a handshake. “I’m Hoseok,” he says, “I live across the hall, and I bumped into, uh,“ — at this point, the man named Hoseok gestures vaguely in Changkyun’s general direction — “anyway, I offered to give him a hand.”

Changkyun realises he and Hoseok never actually introduced themselves to each other. He tries to work out if that’s normal behaviour, sifts frantically through the databases of information he’s compiled over his lifetime. There seems to be a variety of appropriate protocol, Changkyun manages to figure out, relief washing over him.

“I’m Jooheon.” Changkyun is vaguely aware of the scientist — no, his _friend_ — saying to Hoseok. “And the boy spacing out over there is Changkyun.”

The mention of his name startles Changkyun out of his distraction. He offers Hoseok a feeble smile. Waves weakly. That’s what humans do, right? Smile and wave? “Hello,” he adds. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

This, oddly enough, makes Hoseok laugh. His eyes crinkle up when he does. Changkyun stares at his face. He likes looking at it, he thinks.

“It was nice to meet both of you, too,” he says. Waves back to Changkyun as he wanders back out of their flat, and into his own. “I have to head off now, but I hope we’ll see more of each other.”

Changkyun nods, albeit a little too eagerly. He abruptly snaps his head still. “Yes,” he says stiffly. “I hope so too.”

When the door shuts behind a still-chuckling Hoseok, Jooheon turns to stare at him. “What the _hell_ was that?”

Changkyun groans. “I don’t know,” he grumbles. “It’s like I just forgot everything about how to be a human being. I kept staring at his face and everything was pinging out of control — I think I need an upgrade to my processing power?”

Jooheon narrows his eyes at Changkyun. “Your processing power is fine,” he says, and he’s right, and Changkyun knows he’s right as well. He pouts at Jooheon.

“I’m doing a terrible job at being human,” he whines.

But Jooheon just quirks one corner of his mouth at him. “Actually,” he says slowly, staring at Changkyun with something like amusement in his eyes, “I think you’re being much more human than you realise.” Changkyun doesn’t know what he means, and doesn’t get the chance to ask, because Jooheon giggles and skips into the bathroom, declaring an urgent need to pee.

Changkyun turns and looks at the closed front door. Beyond that is a narrow strip of hallway. And beyond that, is Hoseok’s front door. And beyond that still, is Hoseok himself.

In all the time Changkyun had spent imagining his six months of pseudo-freedom, he had painted various pictures in his mind of what his life might look like.

None of those pictures had involved someone like Hoseok.

 

 

* * *

   

_III. beyond that boundary line over there_

 

* * *

 

 

“Minhyuk! Lee Minhyuk, are you in?”

Changkyun looks up from the book he’s reading — he can read practically anything he wants in his mind, of course, but he’s found he likes the experience of holding a book in his hands — and stares at his front door. He can hear a loud knocking coming from the hallway, and what sounds like Hoseok yelling.

“Minhyuk, if you’re in there, open the door!”

Changkyun pads across the living room, peers out through the peephole. He can see Hoseok, still knocking furiously on his own front door. Minhyuk is Hoseok’s flatmate — Changkyun’s met him a couple of times, but has spoken to him far less than he has to Hoseok. Not that he’s spoken to Hoseok much either, but Hoseok just seems to be around more, and they bump into each other every so often.

He watches through the peephole as Hoseok runs his hands through his hair in what looks like frustration. Watches as Hoseok turns around, leans back against his front door. Looks Changkyun in the eye.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like, when Hoseok’s gaze falls on Changkyun’s front door. Changkyun startles, jumps back. Even he can get tricked by perception.

He wonders if Hoseok knows he’s right there, watching.

Jooheon’s gone to the facility for meetings, won’t be back until the evening. Changkyun’s all alone at home. He’s never had to deal with humans on his own, without Jooheon. At least, not for any extended period of time. He probably should, soon, if they want the experiment to bear any fruit. But it’s only been a couple of weeks. Changkyun’s still stumbling over his conversations with Hoseok when they meet in the hallway. It’s way too soon.

But there’s another part of Changkyun’s brain, one he wasn’t quite aware existed, that flickers at him like a beacon. _Why not,_ it pings at him. _Why not?_

Changkyun opens the door.

Hoseok’s sitting on the floor now, back against his own front door, thumbs furiously tapping out a message into his phone. He looks up when Changkyun’s door opens.

“Oh,” he says. A smile spreads across his face, radiant and oddly reassuring. “Sorry about the noise — I forgot my keys.”

Changkyun tries to return the smile, but if he could see himself — and he’s glad he can’t — he’s pretty sure he just looks awkward and uncomfortable. “Minhyuk’s not in?” he asks.

Hoseok shrugs. “I thought he might be too busy gaming in his room to hear me, but I practically shouted the building down,” he says. Sighs heavily. “He’s probably out.”

Changkyun hesitates. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do now, can’t even begin to figure out with any degree of certainty how Hoseok might react to anything he does. There aren’t algorithms to help him with human interactions.

Not that algorithms would help him, given that he has no idea what he wants to accomplish. He isn’t even sure why he’d opened the door in the first place, just that he wanted to and so he did. Being in the human world has made him — impulsive. Things happen so quickly, so unexpectedly, that Changkyun’s taken to acting without mapping out the full range of possible outcomes in his head.

“Do you — do you want to come in and wait?”

Like that. What the hell was that? He’s not ready for one on one interactions with humans.

But Hoseok looks so despondent, sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him. Like all humans, he can’t even entertain himself by playing games or reading books in their mind — no wonder he looks so defeated. And Changkyun can’t focus on anything except the fact that Hoseok is frowning, and that he would really, really like Hoseok to be smiling again.

“I don’t want to impose,” Hoseok says. He’s looking intently at Changkyun, something in his eyes that Changkyun hasn’t quite learnt to parse. There’s surprise there, in his wide eyes and raised eyebrows, but also a twinge of happiness, Changkyun thinks, in the way the muscles at the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Changkyun replies, stepping aside and gesturing for Hoseok to come in, which he does, clambering to his feet with one hand against the wall for balance. “Jooheon is out, I’m just reading and hanging out.”

Hoseok wanders into the flat, thanking Changkyun as he does. He trails one hand along the side of the kitchen counter as his gaze lingers on the little bits of personal clutter in the flat — the pile of sneakers toed off by the front door, the overloaded coat rack standing in the corner of the room, the book that Changkyun had just been reading open and face down on the coffee table.

Changkyun can’t take his eyes off Hoseok. Can’t stop his mind from running through all the things Hoseok might be thinking. Does he have too many shoes, too many coats? Is he too messy? Is the flat too clean, too dirty, too this or that or anything else that Hoseok might disapprove of?

Hoseok sits down on the sofa, picks up the book and peers at it curiously. “Isaac Asimov,” he murmurs to himself. Thumbs across the title on the cover — _I, Robot._

Changkyun chews on his lower lip — another tic he’d acquired in his lifelong attempt to become more human-like, this one picked up from Jooheon. Reading a book about robots is maybe a little on the nose, but it’s what Changkyun’s interested in. Unsurprisingly.

In this moment, though, it feels like a blaring siren announcing his alienness.

“Is it any good?” Hoseok asks, setting the book down, careful not to lose Changkyun’s page.

When he looks up at Changkyun, his gaze is soft, and gentle. The overlapping chattering in Changkyun’s mind slows. He nods. “Yeah,” he mumbles. Shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, just for something to do with them. “I’ve read it before.” Plenty of times. “It’s one of my favourites.”

Hoseok hums absent-mindedly. “I don’t know much about robots,” he admits. Changkyun doesn’t know what to say to this, so he just remains silent.

Thankfully, Hoseok’s already moved on, is peering at the stack of console games sitting by their TV. “You guys have loads of games,” he says enthusiastically. There’s a childlike wonder in his voice.

Changkyun can’t explain why, but being around Hoseok turns down some of the white noise in his head. Everything feels calmer as Changkyun watches Hoseok, whose eyes are bright with excitement.

“They’re Jooheon’s,” Changkyun says, because what use does he have for console games when he can play anything he wants in his head? But he doesn’t say that last bit. Just sits down on the sofa, pulls his legs up to his chest. That’s not something he’s learned from anyone. He just likes hugging his knees to himself. “Do you want to play?”

Hoseok turns back to Changkyun, beams at him. This time, when Changkyun smiles back, it doesn’t feel like he’s pretending.

 

—

 

They’re midway through a first person shooter game, deep in enemy territory, when Hoseok’s phone rings. A dance pop song blares out through the tinny speakers. Hoseok yelps, throwing his controller into the air and catching it again like he’s bouncing a hot potato off his palms.

Despite himself, Changkyun giggles. He’s developed enough of a sense of humour over the years to find that funny. Hoseok rolls his eyes and gives Changkyun a shove with his shoulder, but there’s a small smile playing on his lips that tells Changkyun he’s not actually mad.

“Finally you check your phone,” Hoseok scolds teasingly as he picks up the call, pressing his phone against his ear. Changkyun presses pause on the game. His eyes dart over towards Hoseok, curious but not wanting to intrude. He can hear the faint murmur of Minhyuk’s voice from the other side of the line.

“No, it’s fine,” Hoseok’s saying. He glances over at Changkyun. “I’m playing games with Changkyun at his place.” Minhyuk’s voice gets louder. Hoseok’s face changes, his brow furrowing in a grimace, and he looks briefly at Changkyun again. “Shut up, Minhyuk,” he snaps, a little harshly. “Go enjoy yourself, leave me alone.”

Hoseok casts Changkyun an apologetic glance as he hangs up. “He’s on a date,” he explains. “Won’t be back till after dinner — is it okay if I stay till then?”

Changkyun blinks as he processes this. That’s quite a few more hours. He doesn’t mind, not at all — but he’s taken aback that Hoseok wants to spend that much time with him. With a _robot._

When he says this, however — sans the part about being a robot, of course — Hoseok just cocks his head at him in unfeigned surprise. “Of course I want to spend time with you,” he says, “you’re very — interesting. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. I just mean — you’re different.”

“Different?” Changkyun repeats. He tries to focus his attention on the conversation happening right now, rather than the thousand other things popping up in the back of his mind.

 _Don’t panic,_ he tells himself firmly. He can be different and still human. Being different doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Different how?”

Hoseok shrugs lightly. “Everyone talks so much, you know?” he muses, leaning back into the sofa, like he’s formulating his thoughts as he articulates them. “But not you — you’re quiet. And I guess I just — I get the sense that there’s a lot going on inside you. Like you’re observing and taking everything in and processing all of it and like you have so many thoughts and ideas that you’re not sharing with the world. It makes me want to get to know you.”

Changkyun stares at Hoseok. Watches Hoseok watching him. Realises, with a jolt of epiphany, that he _exists._ That he’s not just a bundle of disparate electrical processes, but a whole, distinct being in his entirety.

It’s a weird revelation. Changkyun doesn’t know how else to describe it — it’s like one thing clicking into place and thousand, million, billion other things following suit, an intricate web of dominos falling in perfect synchrony.

“You’re doing it now again, aren’t you?” Hoseok asks. Changkyun focuses back on reality, back on the warm smile Hoseok’s giving him. “You’re _thinking_ again. I can see it in your eyes. Like there’s a whole universe behind them.”

His eyes. In his synthetic, robotic eyes. The thought that a human can see anything in his eyes other than cables and code sends a shiver of longing through Changkyun.

“Maybe,” he replies, a little sheepishly. Smiles back at Hoseok, close-lipped, trying to contain the energy threatening to vibrate out of him. “Thank you.”

Hoseok frowns. “What for?”

Changkyun doesn’t know. He shrugs. Like he’s learnt that the humans do. Except that this time, he didn’t really need to think about doing it. It just happened. The way things are just happening, have been just happening, ever since Changkyun left the confines of the facility and stepped out into the human world.

There’s an openness in Hoseok’s eyes. It makes Changkyun tingle electric.

“Thank you for seeing me,” he says.

 

—

 

Hoseok suggests they go out for dinner — “my treat,” he says brightly, “to say thank you.” Changkyun tries to decline, but Hoseok insists that they go to a ramyeon place round the corner that’s apparently “inhumanly good”. The unwitting aptness of the turn of phrase makes Changkyun smile.

Jooheon’s having dinner with some of the other scientists, so it’s just Changkyun and Hoseok, cramped into a small booth in the back of the restaurant, knees knocking beneath the table. Changkyun doesn’t need to eat, of course, but he _can_ — in the sense that he can put food in his mouth and chew it and taste it and swallow it. But the actual food is otherwise useless to him, just another waste by-product that he has to deal with. So Changkyun doesn’t eat often.

Which means he’s not very good at it. He fumbles with his chopsticks, eyes Hoseok while scanning the internet for reference videos of people eating ramyeon. Picks up the spoon with his right hand, mirroring Hoseok, and takes a sip of the soup.

He’s awkwardly trying to stop the ramyeon from slipping off his chopsticks before he can get it to his mouth, when Hoseok glances up at him and lets out a laugh that tinkles like bells.

“You alright there?” he teases.

Changkyun grimaces. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “I don’t eat ramyeon very often.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen, comically large. “Why not?” he gasps, as if Changkyun’s just revealed an unthinkable secret. If he’s this shocked about ramyeon, Changkyun wonders how horrified he would be about the whole robot thing. Not that Hoseok would ever, _ever,_ find out, of course.

“I don’t know,” replies Changkyun, casting about for an inoffensive response to the question. “It’s not my favourite?” His voice lifts at the end of the sentence like a question, like he’s not sure if what he’s said is okay.

Hoseok still looks like Changkyun’s just admitted to kicking puppies. “Not your favourite,” he repeats incredulously, one hand pressed against his chest. “What do you like to eat, then?”

A far more loaded question than Hoseok realises. Changkyun contemplates the few things he’s tried in his lifetime. “Crab,” he says, quickly. “Prawns. Seafood.”

This, for some reason, makes Hoseok laugh. “Alright, Mr. Fancypants,” he says, his voice light, playful. Changkyun doesn’t quite get what’s so funny, but there’s something about Hoseok’s easy demeanor that steadies him. His brain doesn’t start whirring, like it usually would when he’s confronted with something he doesn’t understand. Instead, Changkyun just smiles into his bowl of ramyeon, spoons more soup into his mouth. The broth is light but but flavoursome. Maybe ramyeon isn’t so bad.

“Fine,” Hoseok’s saying now, slurping his noodles up noisily, “I’ll forgive you this crime against ramyeon, but only because we’re friends.”

Changkyun freezes.

 _Friends._ The word echoes in his head. Hoseok just called them friends.

He looks up. Hoseok’s happily engrossed with his food, not paying Changkyun any attention.

“Friends?” Changkyun manages to repeat through the fog in his brain. “Did you say we’re friends?”

Hoseok’s chopsticks pause in midair. He looks up. “Yeah,” he says, forming the syllable slowly. “Are — are we not?”

Something inside Changkyun starts to whir in excitement. Just like when Jooheon had called them friends, he thinks. Almost certainly. That's all that is. His second friend.

“It’s not that,” Changkyun quickly corrects, urgently — he doesn’t want Hoseok to think that he’s averse to the idea of them being friends. The words he wants to say cram their way up his throat, get stuck before he can voice them. It’s ridiculous. He has the entire internet’s worth of information at his disposal, infinite words he could use. But he’s too worried about finding the _right_ ones, and all of his brain processes stumble over each other.

Hoseok tilts his head to the side. He’s smiling, at least, and looking at Changkyun patiently. Something about the way Hoseok looks at him — it calms him down, switches off all the ancillary processes that are just making him freak out.

“I just — don’t have a lot of friends,” Changkyun says hesitantly. “Just Jooheon, really, and even then —” he trails off, doesn’t know how to explain their relationship without explaining everything else about himself. Just lets the thought hang in the air, shakes his head to start again. “This is all really new to me,” he mumbles, eyes cast down. “I’ve been very — sheltered, all my life. This is my first time living away from, um, home. I don’t know many people, or have many friends.”

There’s a beat of silence. Changkyun hangs his head, suddenly overcome by worry that he’s messed everything up. Stirs his noodles around with his chopsticks, just for something to do with his hands.

But then he registers the gentle press of a hand against his own, halting his nervous motions. Looks up, to see Hoseok looking at him with something in his eyes that makes Changkyun long for more. More _what_ — Changkyun’s not sure, just knows that he wants more. More of that softness, maybe — that fondness, that unveiled affection.

Changkyun sighs. “I just think that — _feel like_ — I haven’t really lived, you know?”

“I get it,” Hoseok says. Changkyun’s not sure he does get it, not sure there’s a human alive that can possibly, truly, get it — but he thinks that maybe Hoseok is as close to _getting it_ as any human would be able to manage.

But Changkyun’s here now, in the _real world._ As ready as he’ll ever be to face whatever that means for him. He’s stepped across an invisible line now, crossed from the world of rules and routine and things he understands or can easily figure out, and fallen down the rabbit hole into a realm where nothing makes sense. But everything is so much more stimulating for it, and he wonders how he was ever satisfied — or maybe he never was — with the way he used to live.

Hoseok pulls his hand back, rests his chin in his palm. Smiles at Changkyun in that way he does, the light reaching all the way up into his eyes.

“Welcome,” he says, like he’s sharing a secret, “to the rest of your life.”

 

 

* * *

  

_IV. wishing on a sky, wishing on a scar_

 

* * *

 

They become friends, all four of them, in a strange suspended-reality type of way. Or maybe that’s just because Changkyun can’t bring himself to believe that this is his life now — because, in a way, it’s not. It’s just a temporary dream that he’s living in for the time being.

But it’s so easy to pretend otherwise. They’re having dinner in Changkyun and Jooheon’s apartment, and in between the laughter and shared jokes, Changkyun thinks he can buy into the illusion, even if just for a sliver of time.

“Right,” Jooheon announces, checking his phone when it pings shrilly, “I have to get going, Gunhee’s here.”

Minhyuk coos loudly at him from across the table. “Have fun on your date,” he teases, eyes shining with mischief.

Jooheon pouts at him. “ _Not_ a date,” he objects, but he’s already getting up and pulling his leather jacket on, the one that makes his shoulders look as broad as a house.

“Use protection!” is all Minhyuk shouts in response, even as Jooheon sticks his tongue out and slips out the front door. Changkyun cackles in delight, leaning into Hoseok as he does so. Hoseok slings his arm around Changkyun’s shoulders. The weight of him is soothing, reassuring.

Hoseok leans his cheek against the top of Changkyun’s head. They’re no strangers to physical affection, not since the past couple months of spending almost every evening together playing video games. Hoseok is just naturally affectionate, and Changkyun — well, Changkyun has neither preference for nor aversion to it, and so he just lets Hoseok cuddle up to him. Although, he can’t deny that he’s grown accustomed to Hoseok being draped all over him, can’t deny that he maybe even likes it a little.

“Time to wash the dishes and then we can play some games,” Hoseok declares. “Minhyukkie, do you want to join?”

Minhyuk scoffs. “What, and play third wheel to the lovebirds?” he asks. “No, thank you.”

Hoseok shifts away from Changkyun, clears his throat awkwardly. “Shut up,” he mumbles.

Changkyun twists around to look up at Hoseok, whose cheeks are tinged with the faintest blush of pink. _Lovebirds,_ Changkyun thinks to himself. But they’re not lovebirds. Minhyuk’s statement confuses him.

He doesn’t get a chance to ask what Minhyuk means, though.

“I’m going to head off too,” Minhyuk says with finality. “Hyungwon’s DJ-ing a new club tonight and I promised him I’d go. Have fun, both of you.” He shoots Hoseok a wink. “Stay safe.”

Hoseok snatches a tea towel off the back of a chair, chucks it at Minhyuk. “Shut up!” he repeats, more loudly and firmly. But Minhyuk just giggles to himself as he scurries over to the front door and lets himself out, leaving Changkyun and Hoseok alone in the now-silent flat.

Changkyun tugs his legs up, sits cross-legged on the chair and stares at Hoseok. They’re friends now. And friends can ask each other things, even things that might be uncomfortable and weird, right?

“What did Minhyuk hyung mean?” Changkyun says, before he can overthink it and convince himself not to. “When he said _lovebirds_ — he was teasing, wasn’t he?” — that much Changkyun has learnt how to decipher — “But what was he teasing about?”

But Hoseok just gives him a look of wide-eyed alarm, reddening to his ears. “It’s not important,” he says, voice coming out strangled. Climbs to his feet, picks up a couple of plates, and shuffles over to the sink. There’s something distinctly contrived about the way he’s behaving, but Changkyun can’t figure it out and doesn’t want to ask, so he just collects the rest of the dishes, and brings them over to the sink where Hoseok’s already started to do the washing up.

“Here you go, hyung,” Changkyun says gently, setting the dishes down on the counter. Hoseok tilts his head to look at him, his eyes soft and warm, like his entire personality.

“Thanks, Kyunnie,” he replies. The nickname, which Hoseok’s used for him before, still sends a jolt of surprise shooting through him. But not an unpleasant kind of surprise. The kind of surprise that makes Changkyun think that maybe he’d like to have a little giggle, to release some of that nervous energy.

They settle into a comfortable silence, Hoseok washing the dishes and Changkyun drying, putting them away. It’s in moments like these, when Changkyun doesn’t need to think, doesn’t need to worry, can just go through the motions so easily and naturally, that he lets himself forget that he’s _not the same._ That he’s not human, that he never will be.

“What Minhyuk said, earlier,” Hoseok pipes up, completely out of the blue. Changkyun stumbles on his journey towards the cupboard, freshly-dried drinking glass in hand about to be put away. Turns around, looks at Hoseok in surprise.

Hoseok glances at him, then turns his attention back to the dishes he’s washing. Turns the tap off. “What Minhyuk said,” he repeats, like he’s mustering up the nerve to continue, “he was teasing me because — well, because, I kind of. Um.” Hoseok hesitates, his voice trailing off into emptiness. Changkyun can’t stop staring at him, can’t stop the laser sharp focus that his entire being has trained on Hoseok. None of his brain processes seem able to function, not when he’s standing across the kitchen from Hoseok, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

“You kind of what?” urges Changkyun. He keeps his voice level, which he can do easily because he’s a robot after all, and his vocal cords aren’t slave to his emotions — but that doesn’t stop the blaring of alarm bells in his head. His every sense is on high alert as he waits. And waits.

“I kind of — like you,” Hoseok says, firmly. Looks up, directly into Changkyun’s eyes. “Changkyun-ah,” he says, the usual playfulness in his voice completely gone. “I like you.”

Changkyun doesn’t know what to say, what to do. His brain tries to decipher any possible hidden messages in Hoseok’s words, in his body language, and the mental capacity required for that renders him speechless and motionless.

Hoseok dries his hands on a tea towel. “I like you, Changkyun,” he repeats, turning to face Changkyun. “I really do.”

“You like me,” Changkyun repeats slowly, trying the words out for size in his mouth. “Like, um — as a friend, right?” Because that’s the only logical explanation.

But Hoseok shakes his head at him. “No, not as a friend,” he says. “I like you, romantically. Like, I want to take you out on dates and hold your hand and stuff like that.”

“Hold my hand,” Changkyun squeaks out. Apparently that thing about his vocal cords not being a slave to his emotions is total bullshit. Or maybe Changkyun has just lost the ability, in the face of such overwhelming information, to operate any of his functions properly. The connections in his brain are firing at super-speed as he tries to figure out what’s going on and what to do about it.

“Yeah,” Hoseok breathes. “If you’d let me.” Confessing seems to have given him a new wave of confidence, and he takes a large stride towards Changkyun.

Despite himself, Changkyun startles, jerks away in alarm. The glass he’s holding slips from his fingers, smashes against the tiled floor.

“Oh god,” exclaims Changkyun, staggering backwards and bending down to pick up the glass shards. “I’m so sorry, oh my god.”

Hoseok’s crouching down with him, shaking his head furiously. “Don’t be sorry, you don’t need to be sorry,” he’s saying, half-mumbling to himself.

Changkyun’s brain is really fried by now, all of his usual sense evaporated with the shock of being confessed to. He starts grabbing shards of glass off the floor with his bare hands.

“Oh my god, don’t use your hands,” says Hoseok in surprise, reaching out to stop Changkyun.

But too late, because a jagged edge of one of the shards has sliced open the tip of Changkyun’s finger. The synthetic skin peels open like a flower about to bloom. Changkyun can see the barest glint of metal beneath the surface. He snatches his hand away, cradles it against his chest, before Hoseok can spot the telltale sign of his difference.

“You’ve been cut,” Hoseok says in alarm, but Changkyun’s already stumbling to his feet, eyes wide with panic.

“It’s fine,” Changkyun insists sharply. He turns his back to Hoseok, peers down at the cut on his finger. It’s not a big cut, which means —

And there it is. His mainframe registers the injury, triggers the repair process in his synthetic skin. A clever innovation, one that Changkyun’s never had reason to resent. Until now.

He watches his skin mend itself, the bonds in the material re-forming and re-attaching to each other. It’s a matter of seconds, before the open gash on his finger is nowhere to be seen. The skin looks brand new, and unblemished. Not even the slightest scar in sight.

Hoseok hovers nervously behind him. “Are you okay?”

Something inside Changkyun curdles to hear the question. He is filled with a sudden sense of — he doesn’t know how to describe it, but all he wants is to run and hide. He can’t bring himself to turn and look Hoseok in the eye.

“I’m fine,” Changkyun manages to choke out. “Please — please, can you leave?”

A silence meets his question. The air crackles with tension. Changkyun still can’t turn around. He knows it seems like he’s rejecting Hoseok, but right now, he just _can’t._ All he can do is stare at that scarless patch of skin on the tip of his finger, and wish that he could cease to exist.

“Changkyun-ah,” Hoseok exhales. There’s a twinge of something like hurt in his voice. But he doesn’t press the issue. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have —”

“No, it’s okay,” mumbles Changkyun. He doesn’t want Hoseok to feel bad, but he also really doesn’t want to talk about this — or anything — right now. “I just — I need to be alone. Please.”

He remains frozen in place, even as he senses Hoseok tensing up behind him. Even as he hears Hoseok shuffle around the kitchen, and head towards the front door. There’s a brief pause, and Changkyun wonders if Hoseok is going to say something, but then he hears the click of the front door opening, and closing.

Changkyun doesn’t know how long he spends standing in that kitchen, all alone, with nothing and no one for company except the mess of thoughts smashing against the walls inside his brain. When he finally manages to unfreeze himself, he stares at his hand, his perfect, unblemished skin, and realises what the emotion he had been feeling was.

Shame.

It was shame. It was the gut-twisting realisation that the person he had been pretending to be, wasn’t the person he was at all. He wasn’t even a person in the first place. And yet, here he was, playing at being human and getting another human to fall for him and acting like he had any right whatsoever to any of those things.

“You’re not a human,” Changkyun mutters to himself darkly.

He was just a robot. A microchip crammed full of code, shoved into a mannequin. Nothing more. It was stupid of him to ever pretend otherwise.

“You can’t even scar,” Changkyun adds spitefully. He brings up the image, once again, of his synthetic skin knitting itself together so perfectly, just to torture himself.

But, despite all of that — why did Changkyun feel that rush of excitement and happiness when Hoseok had looked him in the eyes and said, “I like you”? Why did his internal sensors light up and flicker at him like that was something they’d been waiting to hear all along?

So maybe Hoseok had been falling for him. But why did Changkyun get the sense that maybe — just maybe — he had been falling for Hoseok in return?

He recalls the tightness in Hoseok’s voice after Changkyun had asked him to leave. A shudder of discomfort snakes its way through Changkyun’s body. He hates that broken sound in Hoseok’s voice, hates it even more for the knowledge that he had been the one to put it there.

Changkyun flops down onto the sofa. He can’t scar, can’t feel pain. But there’s a sensation prickling through his body — or maybe it’s just in his mind — that makes him think of that distinctly human experience of _heartache._ Maybe he can’t feel physical pain, but he can certainly feel emotions, both positive and negative, and with that apparently comes emotional pain. It’s a mean trick, Changkyun thinks. He never asked for this. He doesn’t want this.

And yet, here he is. Not human enough to scar. But more human than he’d ever realised.

 

 

* * *

  

_V. if there’s the moonlight, I don’t want to wake up_

 

* * *

 

Changkyun stands outside Hoseok’s door. The silvery glow of the moon filters in through the window at the end of the hallway. He hasn’t seen or spoken to Hoseok in almost a week.

And how the week had dragged on, Changkyun endlessly checking his phone or perking up when he heard movement outside his front door. He’d been acting so weird that even Jooheon had noticed, and one evening as Changkyun shifted restlessly in his seat, had asked, “what is wrong with you, why are you fidgeting so much?”

It had all gotten too much for Changkyun to bear, and so now here he is, standing in the hallway that separates him from Hoseok, trying to convince himself that he has nothing to lose by knocking. He has no idea what he even wants to say, only knows that he’s messed something up that’s — unwittingly enough — become inexplicably important to him.

He raps his knuckles against the hard surface of the door. Waits, for an impossibly long series of seconds.

When the door opens, and Changkyun locks gazes with Hoseok, his brain empties of all rational thought. Because there Hoseok is, pale skin illuminated by the moonlight, dark hair falling messily into his eyes — the blue tips having since been trimmed off and the white blond dyed back to black — and that same expression of openness in his face that had been there from their very first meeting.

“Oh,” Hoseok says. “What are you doing here?”

Changkyun licks his lips. “I, um — I wanted to talk to you?” The end of his sentence lifts like a question. Hoseok continues to stare blankly at him, so Changkyun keeps talking. “Can I come in?”

Hoseok looks like he wants to say no, but also like he can’t help but say yes. He steps aside, lets Changkyun pass. There’s a distinct gulf between them that had never been there before, and Changkyun hates it. He tries not to think too hard about it, because it makes him want to run away.

“What did you want to talk about?” Hoseok asks, warily.

Changkyun perches himself on the sofa, peers up at Hoseok. “We, um, never finished our conversation,” he says, “from last week.” And the last time they’d spoken. When Hoseok had confessed.

Hoseok rubs a hand across his face. “Look, we don’t need to talk about it,” he says. “We can still be friends, I just — need a little time to sort out my feelings.”

“No, but —” Changkyun starts, then stops himself abruptly. He doesn’t know what to say. This visit had been an impulsive one — and probably an ill-advised one, but Jooheon wasn’t in to stop him. He sits on his hands because he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “I didn’t actually — respond. To what you said.”

A heavy sigh escapes Hoseok’s lips. “Changkyun-ah,” he says, carefully taking a seat next to Changkyun, making sure not to sit too close to him. “You don’t need to say anything. I think — you’ve made yourself perfectly clear.” He shoots Changkyun what’s probably meant to be a reassuring smile.

It’s not, though. Because Changkyun hasn’t made himself clear at all. Frustration bubbles up inside him. He doesn’t know how to explain that the reason why he had panicked has nothing to do with Hoseok at all. That it only has anything to do with himself, and who he is — or isn’t.

“I’m not like you, hyung,” Changkyun blurts out, because Hoseok looks like he’s ready to shut the conversation down. It buys him a little time, but Changkyun’s just blabbering on now. “I don’t — _feel_ things like you. And what you said to me — it made me feel things, and I didn’t understand them, and so I panicked and ran away.”

Hoseok tilts his head at him questioningly. “Whatever you feel is valid, Changkyunnie,” he says, but he still sounds like he’s getting himself ready for a let-down. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Changkyun shakes his head furiously. “No, you don’t understand,” he says.

But Hoseok looks like he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. His eyes are shiny with what Changkyun thinks are unshed tears. “Changkyun-ah, please,” he mumbles. “If you don’t like me, that’s okay. You don’t have to try and let me down easy.”

“But I do,” Changkyun says, the words tumbling out of him. He heaves a sigh. Why is talking so _difficult?_ “But I do like you.”

Hoseok smiles sadly at him. “But not in the same way.”

“Yes, in the same way!” insists Changkyun. He’s not sure where this sudden burst of certainty is coming from, all he knows is that the more Hoseok tries to deny it, the more sure he becomes of how he feels. He reaches out, presses the palm of his hand against Hoseok’s cheek. “Yes,” he repeats, more quietly this time, “in the same way.”

“Changkyun-ah,” exhales Hoseok. He closes his eyes, leans his cheek into Changkyun’s hand. But just for a second. Then his eyes fly open, and he darts away. Changkyun’s hand hovers in mid-air, falls lamely into his lap. “No,” Hoseok says, sharply, like he’s talking to himself. Raises his gaze to meet Changkyun’s. “If you don’t like me, please don’t lead me on.”

Changkyun furrows his brow. “I do like you,” he says again, because how many times does he need to say it for Hoseok to understand?

“Then why did you push me away when I confessed to you?” Hoseok asks. “I don’t want you to say that you like me because you _pity_ me.”

And that’s so, so far from the truth that it almost makes Changkyun laugh. As it is, he lets out a small noise that mid-way between a scoff and a chuckle. If anything, he _envies_ Hoseok. Envies the strength with which he seems to feel every emotion, the fearless fervour with which all of his passions seem to blaze.

Changkyun, on the other hand —

“I’m just — I’m not sure that I’m _able_ to feel things,” he says, guiltily. Almost shamefully. “And so it was hard for me to know how to respond. Because what if what I think I’m feeling isn’t real?”

“If you feel it and it’s real to you, that’s all that matters,” murmurs Hoseok. He casts his eyes down. Changkyun wants to scream with frustration. Hoseok just doesn’t understand that he’s not speaking in metaphors — he means everything he’s saying, _literally._ But he feels hamstrung, because the words he can say aren’t enough to convey the meaning he wants to get across.

For once in his life, he knows what the right words to say are, he just — isn’t allowed to say them.

But all those rules, they’re almost like part of his past now, part of a version of him that doesn’t exist any more — I.M is the one who is content to shuffle about in the little box that he’s been bestowed.

Changkyun, in the infinite expanse of the real world, is his own person now.

“I’m a robot,” he says. “I don’t know if my feelings are real, because I’m a robot.”

Hoseok stares at him for a long, tense period of silence.

His lips part, then purse together. And then, finally, he speaks: “You mean, you feel like a robot because you don’t think you have emotions?” Hoseok nods faintly to himself like he’s sure that’s what Changkyun means.

Except that’s most certainly not what Changkyun means. He lets out a short, sharp, scream of exasperation.

“No,” says Changkyun. He thinks for a second, then holds out his hand. “See, where I sliced my finger open on the glass last week? No scar.”

Hoseok blinks at Changkyun twice, then slowly inspects the finger he’s been given. “You’re young,” he says, slowly, “you heal fast. What — what are you talking about?”

Changkyun scrunches up his face. Casts his gaze about until he spots a pair of scissors lying on the desk in the corner of the room. A wild impulse courses through him. He gets up, strides over, and snatches the scissors up. “Here,” he insists, “look.”

And then he presses the open blade of the scissors down against his finger — the same finger — and slices the skin open.

“Holy shit, don’t!” shrieks Hoseok, leaping to his feet and nearly vaulting over the coffee table to get to Changkyun. He grabs Changkyun’s hand in his own, presumably ready to inspect the wound.

What he sees instead, is exactly what Changkyun had seen a week before. The cut blooms open, revealing for the barest split second a glimpse of metal and wiring beneath the surface. Then the skin folds back in on itself, knitting itself back together expertly, so expertly that within seconds, the cut is gone and there isn’t even a scar in its place.

“Holy shit,” Hoseok says again, but his tone is completely different this time. He drops Changkyun’s hand, stumbles backwards. When he looks up at Changkyun, his eyes are blown wide with shock. “What — what the hell?”

“I’m a robot,” Changkyun repeats. “Artificial intelligence. Not human.”

Hoseok fumbles his way to the sofa, sits down on it heavily. Presses himself into the cushions, like he’s trying to get away from Changkyun. “Not — not human?”

Changkyun shakes his head. “Not human,” he replies. The fear with which Hoseok is staring at him — it stings. Makes him feel that same tug of shame. But it is what it is. He is who he is. “Which is why — it’s not personal. When you said — well, you know what, to me — I just didn’t know what to do.”

Hoseok frowns at Changkyun. “But, earlier,” he stammers out, “you said that you liked me.”

And so he did. Because he thinks he does, whatever that means.

But it doesn’t matter, in the end.

“I’m only telling you this because I know I hurt you, the way I responded,” Changkyun says. “And I want you to know — it’s not that I don’t like you. Because I do like you. Or, at least, I think I do. It’s just — it doesn’t matter. Because I’m a robot.”

Hoseok exhales sharply. “A robot,” he says again. “You’re a robot.”

“I’m a robot,” Changkyun repeats.

And that’s all there is left to be said.

 

 

* * *

  

_VI. young wild and free, wild and free_

 

* * *

 

 Jooheon almost loses his mind when Changkyun tells him. The only thing stopping him from actually exploding is the utterly wrecked look on Changkyun’s face. He’d walked in later that night, only to find Changkyun sitting on the sofa in their flat, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

“What happened?” he’d asked.

And Changkyun had just looked up at him, blinked twice, and said, “I just realised. I can’t cry.”

So even though Jooheon had been furious to find out Changkyun had told Hoseok that he was a robot, he couldn’t get too mad, not when the poor kid was going through his very first heartbreak. Those were Jooheon’s own words.

“I don’t even have a heart,” Changkyun had objected.

“So?” came Jooheon’s reply. “Human hearts don’t actually break either. It’s just a word we use to describe feeling really, really shitty.” He peered at Changkyun. “Do you feel really, really shitty right now?”

Changkyun hadn’t even needed to think. “Yeah,” he said. “Really, really shitty.”

Jooheon sits with one arm curled around Changkyun now, his free hand wielding the TV remote and flicking through various titles on Netflix. The two of them haven’t done much else all week since Changkyun’s disastrous confession — in multiple senses of the word — to Hoseok. Not that Changkyun minds. He may have seen practically all of Netflix’s offerings before, but it’s still comforting, in a way, to sit on the sofa, tucked against Jooheon’s side, a reminder that he does have at least one friend in the world who likes him for who he is. Robot or not.

“What do you want to watch?” Jooheon asks, even as he clicks through title after title.

Changkyun shrugs. “I, Robot?” he suggests sardonically.

Jooheon reaches round to pinch his cheek. “Very funny,” he says flatly. “No robot movies, they just make you feel gloomy.”

“If I'm even capable of feeling anything,” mopes Changkyun.

Jooheon smacks him on the back of his head. “Shut up,” he scolds. “You’re well capable of feeling emotions. I’ve seen it.”

“Maybe I just act in a way that makes it seem like I have emotions,” objects Changkyun. He can’t stop thinking about this, trying to figure out how much of what he thinks he feels is real and how much of it is just — mimicry.

The serious lilt to his voice makes Jooheon pause midway through scrolling to the ‘comedy’ genre. He extricates his arm from around Changkyun, turns to look his squarely in the eye.

“How do you think humans figure out what they're feeling?” he asks. “We don’t know what we’re feeling almost all of the time, beyond a general ‘yes this feels good’ and ‘no this feels bad’. We look at how we act and respond to things and figure it out from there.”

Changkyun stares at Jooheon. He’s never thought about emotions like that before.

Jooheon sighs, brushes Changkyun's fringe away from his forehead. “The very fact that you were so desperate for Hoseok to understand that you weren’t rejecting him that you told him the _one secret you had to keep_ — the fact that you were so desperate not to hurt his feelings — it shows how much you care about him,” he says softly, gently, like he’s afraid to startle Changkyun. “I can’t tell you if that means anything more, but — I can tell you that being willing to do just about anything to make sure someone doesn't get hurt? That's as close to love as we get, Kyunnie.”

 _Love._ The word echoes in Changkyun's mind. This doesn't make any sense. He can’t possibly —

“A robot can’t fall in love,” Changkyun whispers. He can barely bring himself to speak, so reverent the moment feels as he realises that maybe — maybe he’s in love.

Jooheon just smiles at him, cheeks dimpling lightly. “I’d say you’re living proof that that's just not true.”

 

—

 

They're halfway through an inane buddy cop movie when a knocking on their door startles them both.

Jooheon lets out a whine and stretches lazily from his position, sprawled across the sofa and Changkyun. “Go answer it,” he says, toeing at Changkyun's thigh with his foot.

“You go answer it,” Changkyun objects. “I’m heartbroken, remember?”

“I thought you didn't have a heart,” teases Jooheon. He holds out a fist. “Rock paper scissors for it.”

Changkyun tries to argue, but then Jooheon starts the chant, and he'll lose if he doesn't play, so his hands shoots out instinctively, palm open and fingers spread. Jooheon giggles as he brandishes his fingers in front of Changkyun's face in a snipping motion.

Whoever's outside their flat knocks firmly again.

“Who even is it? It's almost ten at night,” complains Changkyun as he extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and blankets on the sofa and shuffles over to the door. Peers through the peephole.

Standing outside, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he glances down the corridor, is Hoseok.

“It's Hoseok,” hisses Changkyun, spinning round and pressing his back flat against the door. Jooheon looks up at him in confusion. Changkyun makes a face. “It's Hoseok,” he repeats. “What do I do?”

Jooheon shrugs. “Open the door? See what he wants to say?”

Changkyun makes a strangled choking noise to indicate how he feels about Jooheon's suggestion. “I can’t do that!” he exclaims in dismay. “He knows I'm a _robot!”_

Jooheon looks like he's about to say something, when Hoseok knocks lightly on the door again. Changkyun whips his head round to stare at the door. They can hear him clearing his throat loudly.

“Um,” he starts, “I can hear everything you’re saying.”

Changkyun turns back to Jooheon feebly. Jooheon just waves a hand at him dismissively, as if to say “just open the door, you fool”.

And so, at a loss for what else he might conceivably do, Changkyun turns the latch and tugs the door open. Stands there looking sheepishly at Hoseok.

A long silence passes between them, until finally Hoseok says, “Can I — uh, can I come in?”

Behind Changkyun, Jooheon splutters with laughter. “Well, this has been sufficiently awkward,” he declares, turning the TV off and getting to his feet. “I presume you’re not here for me, so I'm going to bed.” He wanders across to his room, blanket trailing along behind him. Pauses just once, turns back to look at Changkyun and Hoseok. “Play nice, kids,” he says, and then he's disappearing into his room with a soft click of the door.

Changkyun stands back to let Hoseok in, gestures vaguely towards the sofa and mumbles something that he hopes sounds like “take a seat” but he can't really tell because he's so incredibly overwhelmed by the fact that Hoseok is _here._ In his flat, with him, robot-him, and not screaming and running away in fear.

Once Hoseok has settled himself onto the sofa, he glances up at Changkyun and pats the space next to him. Offers Changkyun the tiniest of smiles that makes Changkyun wonder if he's allowed to pretend everything is okay when it so definitely, evidently, is not.

“I, uh,” Hoseok says, at the same time Changkyun manages to get the first words of “why are you here” out. Hoseok pauses, chuckles slightly. His eyes crinkle up and it makes Changkyun want to make him laugh again.

Hoseok swallows, steeling himself to start speaking again. Changkyun waits patiently. When Hoseok does speak, the words sound rehearsed.

“I wanted to apologise,” he says, firmly. “For how I responded when you told me — you know. That you were a robot.”

The ludicrousness of Hoseok thinking he has anything to apologise for renders Changkyun speechless. He just stares at Hoseok in bewilderment.

“It was a, um, surprise — which is, of course, a massive understatement,” continues Hoseok, smiling softly to himself. “But then you went away, and I realised something.”

He pauses, looks intently into Changkyun's eyes. Changkyun can't bring himself to look away. His eyes drop to the soft curve of Hoseok's lips. Something about how pink they are, and the way they move as Hoseok speaks, is utterly magnetic.

“I realised,” Hoseok is saying, his voice so soft it's barely even a whisper, “that none of that changes the way I feel about you.”

Changkyun wants to touch Hoseok, wants to place his hand on Hoseok's face and run his thumb over the fullness of Hoseok's lower lip. He doesn't know why he wants that but he does. Because he thinks Hoseok will like that, because he thinks that will say to Hoseok something that he wants to say but cannot put into words? Changkyun doesn't know. He clenches his hands into fists to resist the urge.

“But I’m a robot,” Changkyun points out. He can't help the despondent tone in his voice.

Hoseok shrugs. “I was thinking about what that means,” he says. Runs his hand through his hair as he seems to search for the words he wants to say. “And if you hadn't told me you were a robot, I would never have known. Never. Doesn't that tell you everything you need to know?”

There's a seriousness in Hoseok's voice, in his eyes, like he's waiting for Changkyun to get what he's implying. But Changkyun doesn’t understand. “Does it?” he asks. “Does it tell you anything?”

“It tells me,” Hoseok replies, reaching out with one hand and placing it on Changkyun's knee, “that you being a robot doesn't matter. If it had mattered, surely I would have known?”

His words make sense, sort of, but Changkyun can't bring himself to hope. Hoseok just doesn't get it, doesn't understand. And when he does, he's just going to get hurt.

“But — but what if I'm just incredibly good at pretending?” he asks. “What if I don't actually — have feelings for you? What if I just act like it?”

Hoseok nods. He looks like he's considered this question before as well. “The thing is — those worries aren't unique to the fact you're a robot. Humans don't know how each other feel either. We all have to take it on blind faith.” A wry smile crosses his face. “In that way, everything you're worried about is really just the quintessential human experience.”

Changkyun bites on his lower lip to give himself something to do while he tries to sift through the mess of thoughts whipping through his brain. He doesn't get it, doesn't get how Hoseok can possibly be so calm about this.

“Aren't you afraid?”

Hoseok lets out a small chuckle. “I know you're a robot, Changkyunnie,” he says, “but you're not a very scary one. Maybe if they'd given you a more imposing body, not this cute one with its round cheeks.” He gives Changkyun's face a gentle prod with his finger. The teasing affection is so familiar, so comfortable, that Changkyun wants to just lean into Hoseok, and ignore everything else. Pretend that the reality if who he is isn't staring them in the face.

But he can't. He pulls away from Hoseok. “But I’m just — steel and wiring. How could you possibly — how does that not scare you?”

The playful smile on Hoseok's face fades away. “You're _not_ just steel and wiring,” he says, fiercely. “You _have_ steel and wiring, the same way I have flesh and blood. We inhabit our physical forms, but we aren't them.”

Hoseok's talking as if Changkyun is a being separate and distinct from his robotic frame. It registers sharply in Changkyun's mind, blinking out at him like — _I am, I am, I am._

“Look,” Hoseok's saying, “I've been thinking about this literally every waking moment since you first told me. And, truth be told, I'm fucking terrified. But I refuse to let something as stupid as how we were brought into this world dictate how I choose to exist in it.”

Changkyun looks down, twisting his fingers together in his lap. “You're brave,” he whispers. How is Hoseok this perfect? How can someone like Hoseok possibly have any interest in a _robot?_

Hoseok reaches over to cover Changkyun's worrying hands with his own. Stills the anxious fidgeting that’s serving as both an outlet and trigger for Changkyun's spiralling thoughts.

“Do you want to know why I'm being so brave?” he asks. Changkyun raises his gaze to look at Hoseok. Nods ever so slightly. Hoseok gives his hands a squeeze. “Because I looked at you, and I thought — Changkyunnie is the bravest person I know. And he was brave enough to be honest with me, so he deserves my bravery too.”

The sensation that washes over Changkyun is one he can barely describe. His entire being is tingling, and he can't make his brain concentrate on anything except Hoseok, and his voice, his kind eyes, his thumb rubbing a gentle circle into the back of Changkyun's hand.

“Robots can't be brave,” Changkyun says.

Hoseok just smiles. “I bet you thought a robot couldn't make a human fall in love with him either.”

And then Hoseok's leaning almost imperceptibly closer, placing his palm along the ridge of Changkyun's jaw. The heat of his skin draws Changkyun's entire focus to that one point of contact.

“Fall — in love?” Changkyun repeats, because for all the brain power he has, he can't get anything to function right now.

A soft laugh escapes Hoseok. “I like you, Changkyun-ah,” he whispers like a secret. “And — if you _think_ you like me too? That’s enough. That's enough for me.”

 _That's enough._ Changkyun's wanted so much in his life, but in this moment, this feels like enough for him too. He feels his cheeks lift into the tiniest of smiles.

“I do think I like you,” he says shyly.

The grin that breaks across Hoseok's face is like the sun cresting the horizon. He runs his thumb along the side of Changkyun's cheek. “Is it really, really stupid that I want to kiss you now?”

It is, but it also isn't. Changkyun’s seen human kiss countless times, knows what it means and what it signifies. He's always absently thought that it's something he would like to try someday.

But now — something inside him seems to explode at Hoseok's words. The thought that Hoseok wants to kiss him is just — too much. He can’t believe that this human, this one right here that he likes so much, likes him back enough to want to kiss him. _Him!_ Beautiful, loving, funny, utterly perfect Hoseok, wants to kiss little old him.

And Changkyun — Changkyun wants it too.

“I don't know — I don't know how,” he mumbles, stumbling over his words. “But I want to kiss you. I want you to kiss me. I want —”

Hoseok giggles. “Shh,” he murmurs soothingly. “It's okay. Just follow my lead.”

And then he leans forward, presses their lips together.

Changkyun knows, intellectually, that he has as many sensors in his lips that humans have in theirs. But experiencing what this actually means for the first time is something else entirely. His brain feels like it's on the fritz from all the feedback it's receiving, the warm, soft press of Hoseok's lips on his own, not to mention Hoseok's hands, one carding through his hair, his thumb stroking the curve of Changkyun's ear, the other one snaking round Changkyun's waist and tugging him close.

Or maybe it isn't the physical sensations so much as the fact that it's _Hoseok_ — the same Hoseok whose laugh is Changkyun's favourite sound, whose eyes seem to bore straight into Changkyun's core, whose mere presence is enough to shut off all of the endless chatter in Changkyun's mind. Maybe it's the fact that it's _this particular human,_ showing Changkyun so much love and affection in such a clear and unambiguous way, that's sending Changkyun into a state of bliss he didn't think he was even capable of experiencing.

When Hoseok finally pulls away — Changkyun doesn't even know how long they were kissing for — his lips look even plumper and redder, and his pupils are blown with what Changkyun recognises as desire. It just makes him want to go in for another kiss, want to make Hoseok look that way forever.

But no — he stops himself. “What — what are we doing?” he asks.

Hoseok smiles at him. “No idea,” he says, hands coming up to cup Changkyun's face. “But we're alive, and we’re free to do whatever we want. Even if it's stupid. Even if it ends in disaster. So let's just — give it a go?”

It goes against everything Changkyun's been taught — to think things through, to work through all the possible outcomes, to use his oversized brain to always, always help him pick the best course of action.

But Changkyun's a new person now.

He smiles back at Hoseok. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Let's give it a go.”

And then he leans in, one hand curled round the back of Hoseok's neck, and kisses him again.

 

 

* * *

  

_VII. that's a daydream, wake up_

 

* * *

 

The next few months slip by like a lazy river. Changkyun stops _thinking_ so hard about everything. He still doesn't know what the right words are to use for his feelings, but he knows they're good feelings. They're feelings that he wants to bask in for all eternity. He feels like — the way his life is right now, he doesn't want to change anything about it.

Changkyun is living in a daydream, and he isn't ready to wake up.

But all dreams have to come to an end.

Six months almost to the day since he first met Hoseok, and Changkyun has to go back into the facility.

“It may not be forever,” Hoseok says, running his fingers through Changkyun's hair. “You said it yourself — maybe they'll commission another six months.”

Changkyun knows what he said. But he could be wrong. “They might not, though.”

Hoseok smiles softly. His cheek is squashed against the pillow, dark hair sticking out at odd angles. Changkyun doesn't sleep, but that hasn't stopped him from crawling into bed with Hoseok for cuddles. Right now, he stares at Hoseok, desperately trying to imprint the memory of Hoseok, lying here beside him, into his brain. He doesn't need to try to hard — he can recall any experience he's ever had at will. But something tells him nothing will ever compare to the feeling of actually being right here, next to Hoseok, in this irreplaceable moment.

“If I don’t come back,” Changkyun says, “just know — meeting you has been the most life-changing thing to ever happen to me.”

“Shh, don't talk like you're dying,” Hoseok replies.

Changkyun can see the sheen of tears in Hoseok's eyes. “You might never see me again,” he presses. “Hoseok, this might be it.”

Hoseok leans forward, touches his lips to Changkyun's forehead in the softest of kisses. “I know,” he whispers, like he's afraid to break something. “Which is why — let's not ruin what might be our last few days together with goodbyes.”

That's maybe the most _human_ thing Hoseok's ever said to him. But, Changkyun realises with a jolt of surprise, he understands exactly what Hoseok means.

“Okay,” Changkyun says. And he closes his eyes, kisses Hoseok, and falls back into the dream.

 

—

 

“What do you think they’re talking about? Jooheon says, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. They’re back in the lab where they’ve spent so many hours together, back in the lab that Changkyun had once upon thought of as his home. But now, the sterile white walls and fluorescent lighting feel too harsh, too foreign.

Changkyun shrugs. “Probably trying to figure out if anything a robot says can be trusted.”

Jooheon makes a strangled whining noise. “You know, you’ve developed a real dry sense of humour ever since they released you into the wild, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

Despite himself, Changkyun smiles. Jooheon seems almost more nervous than Changkyun is about the fact that Changkyun’s entire future is hanging on the balance in the room next door. But, Changkyun figures, they’ve made their case. There’s nothing more to be gained by worrying.

That’s not to say that Changkyun isn’t worried. He’s just trying to slow the endless whirring processes - _what if, what if, what if_ — in his mind, by thinking of Hoseok, and the way he had smiled when they’d said goodbye earlier that day.

“No matter what happens, you’ll always be in here,” Hoseok had said, pointing at his chest to indicate his heart. “No one can ever take that away from us.” His eyes were shiny with tears, but he wasn’t crying. Not yet. But Changkyun knew him well enough, after all these months, to know that he would start crying the second Changkyun turned his back.

“That’s cheesy,” Changkyun had replied, but he’d kissed Hoseok anyway.

And now, here he was, waiting to find out if he would be allowed to live in Hoseok’s life, as well as in his heart.

“They have to agree, right?” Jooheon asks. He paces back and forth in front of Changkyun. “It makes perfect scientific sense. You’ve shown so much progress in developing the ability to not only think and act like a human, but to feel like one. They can’t possibly give up this opportunity, it would be cutting edge research…”

This is the spiel they had prepared for the presentation to the panel, headed by the facility’s big boss, K.Will, making their case for continuing the experiment indefinitely — and therefore allowing Changkyun to stay out in the real world. Now Jooheon’s just reciting it out of sheer nerves.

Changkyun reaches out, places one hand on Jooheon’s arm to stop his pacing. His mind wanders back to a time, almost a year ago, when Jooheon had been the one to place a hand on Changkyun to calm him down. How the roles reverse.

“It’ll be okay,” Changkyun says, gently.

A part of him feels a twinge of something unpleasant — it has to do with the knowledge that, if he doesn’t return, Hoseok will be sad. He doesn’t like it when Hoseok is sad.

But there’s a part of him that thinks, Hoseok has only known him for six months. Hoseok will be sad, but he won’t be sad forever. Changkyun knows enough about humans and the way they form attachments to know that broken hearts heal with time. There was potential between them, sure, and it would be a waste not to be given the chance to see where things go — but it’s not the end of the world for Hoseok.

It’s not the end of the world for Changkyun either.

“How can you be so calm?” Jooheon’s asking, scrunching up his face and giving his head a nervous tilt to the side. Watches as Changkyun takes a seat in one of the chairs by the desk. “This is all you've ever dreamed about.”

And so it was. So it was.

Changkyun’s daydreamed, many, many times, about what it would be like to be human. There are so many lives he’s wished he could have lived, so many people he’s wished he could be.

But he’s learned something, over the course of the past six months.

Even the most wondrous daydreams are nothing compared to reality. Nothing compared to the actual experience of walking into the world with no idea of what’s going to happen, where you’re going to go, or who you’ve going to meet. Nothing compared to both the exhilaration and the sorrow of existence.

He’s resented all the people who have asked him what it’s like to be a robot, without realising that he had spent his entire existence wondering the same thing about humans. Why does he care what it’s like to be human? He has the experiences and emotions that he has, and it is what it is.

 _I am what I am,_ Changkyun thinks. This is his reality, and he’s proud of it. Whatever that means — it’s his life, and no one else’s.

His name is Changkyun, and he’s a robot.

“No point in dreaming,” Changkyun says. “It is what it is. It will be what it will be.”

Jooheon makes a face at him. Changkyun just leans back in his seat, content to wait.

The door to the lab opens. K.Will steps through. “Jooheon, and I.M — Changkyun,” he says. “We’ve made a decision.”

Changkyun stands up. The daydream is over. Time to wake up.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> reminder: this fic was written as part of the olymfics competition, where winners are chosen by the readers! the prompt for this fic was j-hope's daydream
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